20 



RECREATION. 



saw the boat his tail pointed upward and 

 down he went, like an iron safe. That 

 style of fighting continued about 25 minutes, 

 until finally his codship was brought to 

 gaff, both fish and angler about equally 

 exhausted. Nineteen pounds, over 3 feet 

 long, with an enormous mouth fringed with 

 teeth like those of a bulldog, the brown 

 cod is, nevertheless, the finest food fish 

 in those waters. 



By that time the sun had nearly reached 

 the horizon and the Indians were around 

 us in their canoes. There was old Jack, 

 perched in the stern of his canoe, on a pile 

 of large rocks that barely offset the weight 

 of his enormous squaw in the bow, inci- 

 dentally the fattest human being I ever saw 

 out of a circus. They formed a truly re- 

 markable contrast, he being mere skin and 

 bone. In these cases the squaw always 

 does half the paddling, while the man does 

 all the fishing. 



For half an hour or so we rowed slowly 

 along, watching the kingfishers and guil- 

 lemots retiring for the night to their holes 

 in the cliffs, and finally becoming com- 

 pletely absorbed in watching the onslaught 

 of a flock of crows on a pair of bald eagles, 

 whose nest was in one of the giant firs. 

 Suddenly the rod was almost jerked out 

 of my hand, the tip was pulled deep under 

 water, and the reel buzzed angrily as its 

 handle removed the skin from one or 2 

 of my knuckles. Fifty feet, 75, 100, 150, 

 and still the line went out. This is no 

 silver salmon or cod, for no fish in the 

 sound but the tyee is capable of such con- 

 tinued bursts of speed. Gradually, how- 

 ever, the strain of the little rod begins to 

 tell and 50 feet of line are regained, when 

 the reel handle is jerked out of my hand 

 and he is off again on another 150 foot race. 

 Nearly 400 feet of line are out, but I fight 

 back, inch by inch, until my fish goes to the 

 bottom to sulk and try ^o jerk the hook 

 out of his mouth. This is the most trying 

 time of all to the angler, for the mouth of 

 a salmon is tender and will not stand much 

 snubbing. However, if he keeps this up 

 he will certainly tear loose, so I gradually 

 force him to the surface, which gives us 

 a view of his broad green back with its 

 black mottling. The first sight of the boat 

 sets him frantic and he is off again on 

 another series of rushes, this time so close 

 to the surface as to make the line sing 

 through the water, thus forming with the 

 whirring of the reel the most charming of 

 all duets to the ear of an angler. The fight 

 is on again for the same length of time 

 as before, but finally he tires and is brought 

 to gaff. Still shaking his head, after a 

 grand battle of over half an hour, he is 

 taken into the boat, 22 pounds of the 

 gamest fighting fish in Puget sound. 



The sun having set, all the other boats 



caught fish as well as ourselves. The 

 Indians use herring and a hand line, for 

 they argue that a rod in such cases is white 

 man nonsense and a criminal waste of time. 

 However, we were both anxious to waste 

 another half hour in the same way, so over 

 went the spoon. That time only 2 minutes 

 passed before the tip of the rod was jerked 

 under water, and the handle of the reel 

 tried to resemble a circular saw in action. 

 The fight was a repetition of the last one 

 until, apparently tired out, the fish was 

 brought within 100 feet of the boat. Then, 

 as if possessed by the Furies, he dashed 

 away with 200 feet of line and came to a 

 sudden stop. I reeled in the line with 

 nothing but dead weight at the end, and 

 we lifted from the water the remains of a 

 handsome salmon. He was torn into 

 shreds, and looking down into the water 

 we saw a school of dogfish. 



It was necessary to row a few hundred 

 yards to get away from them, and prepara- 

 tory to setting the sinker I tossed the 

 spoon over with 3 or 4 feet of line. We 

 then examined our mangled captive, before 

 starting in to fish, and he proved an inter- 

 esting example of dogfish voracity. The 

 clean cut bites gave a good idea of the 

 sharp teeth of this little shark. An un- 

 expected interruption came in the shape 

 of a great splash under the stern of the 

 skiff and I threw out the sinker just in 

 time to avoid a broken line. Another 

 fight and a 15 pound tyee was brought to 

 gaff. 



It was then dark and a succession of 

 short jerks on the line showed that nothing 

 but dogfish were to be caught. This was 

 amply proved as out of the darkness we 

 heard an Indian gaff a fish, then the thud, 

 thud, thud of the killing club, and lastly a 

 splash followed by an avalanche of Siwash 

 profanity. Not a thing could be seen, but 

 the whole scene was before us as plain as 

 day, for we knew that such is the love be- 

 stowed on all dogfish by the Indians. 



The tide being in our favor, we paddleb! 

 lazily back to the camp. The possibilities 

 of this kind of fishing form one of its many 

 fascinations, for the angler never can tell 

 what may take his hook. Some days he will 

 lose nearly every fish that strikes, while on 

 others he will make a clean record. Nearly 

 everything from a rock cod to a bull seal 

 has been known to take a spoon, and tyee 

 as heavy as 75 pounds have been taken on 

 the hook. Mr, P. V. Caesar, of Tacoma, 

 met with an exciting experience when near- 

 ly all of his 600 foot line was taken out 

 at one rush by some unknown monster- of 

 the deep, only to have it tear loose at the 

 end. Realizing that he must check the rush 

 at all costs, he applied a heavy drag to 

 the reel and then gave the butt, which re- 

 sulted in the loss of the fish, 



